


Out of Time

by TheTimelessChild0



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Desperation, Embarrassment, Friendship, Post-Season/Series 01, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/TheTimelessChild0
Summary: The 19th centurydidhave toilets. Just not ones he could use.
Kudos: 4





	1. Answering a Voicemail from Lyndon

Flynn stretched as he approached the Lifeboat. 

“Is it just me or are we doing this earlier and earlier?” he remarked, scratching his barely shaved face. 

“Says the guy who stole a time machine in the middle of the night,” Rufus pointed out. 

“That was a night shift thing, the difference is I actually got to sleep beforehand,” Flynn remarked grumpily. 

“Well, we’re landing at night, you can sleep then,” Lucy assured him. 

The American time-travelling version of the Beatles got in the capsule. 

“Ready for departure at 10:24 AM,” Rufus read off his watch.

“10:24?” Flynn asked, mildly panicked. 

  
“Yeah, why?” Wyatt asked, curiously. 

“Just..good to know how much sleep I could’ve had this morning,” he exaggerated his grumpiness, reaching into his bag and pulling out a smartwatch. 

He turned it on frantically, seconds before it rang an alarm. 

  
“Why do you have an alarm for 10:25?” Lucy questioned. 

Flynn turned off the alarm, and turned off the watch, hiding the screen with his hand. “Just to remind me to get in the capsule before you show up. Forgot to delete it,” he lied. 

“But, you usually leave at 10:27” Rufus noted.

“Sometimes I’m early, sometimes I’d shave, we weren’t on the clock back then,” Flynn explained. 

While yes, Flynn’s team wasn’t on the clock, Flynn himself always  _ was _ . 

*********

**February 12, 1832, London.**

Lucy was right, it was indeed nighttime when she climbed out of the Lifeboat in her slightly more comfortable dress. 

“When I asked Mason for a more practical dress, I didn’t mean ‘fit for prostitution’,” she grumbled. 

“Hey, we need to fit in, we’re going to the East End,” Flynn reminded her. 

“East End? Home of Jack the Ripper?!” Rufus hissed in terror. 

“Not yet, chill out. Besides, I’m the one who’d be in danger of him anyway, he only slashed women,” Lucy corrected. 

***

They found a well-lit guesthouse to stay the night, after the mission. 

  
“1800s. Finally a century with indoor plumbing, that’s a relief,” Wyatt remarked. 

His statement reminded Flynn’s bladder of the possibility of relief. 

_ Well, now I have another reason to kill the next Rittenhouse guy I see…  _ Flynn grumbled to himself, putting one hand in his pocket. 

Unfortunately, the hotel didn’t have enough rooms for the 4 of them to sleep separately, and rooms with 2 beds were only for the rich of the era, so they had to pick roommates. Wyatt picked Rufus, both due to his past with Lucy and because he wasn’t convinced, Garcia wouldn’t stab him in his sleep. 

* * *

Flynn paced back in forth, while Lucy unpacked her things, and concealed them in case someone came in to clean. 

“Places like this don’t have maids yet, Luce. Victoria isn’t even queen yet,” he pointed out, hiding a crotch grab by facing the curtain. 

“Well, there are robbers,” Lucy rebutted, sneaking a glance at Flynn. For a split second, she thought she saw his hand reach down, but dismissed it. 

_ I’ve got Lyndon on my brain,  _ she reasoned. 

“What’s up with you, this isn’t secretly a murder trap, didn’t you look for that, back in the lobby?” she smirked, remembering his eyes darting around while they were checking in. 

“I did, that doesn’t change the fact I look like every face on Scotland Yard’s wanted posters,” Flynn frowned nervously. 

“Come on, you charmed your way to Washington’s top ranks, you’re fine. They don’t know about the shooting up a military facility and stealing a time machine thing. Even if they did, the statute of limitations doesn’t even start ticking for another 175 years,” Lucy assured him, walking into the bathroom. 

Garcia Flynn still wasn’t calmed by this. Yes, he could put on a smile and look like a single father in front of his own mother no problem, but how was he supposed to look less  _ shifty _ , while increasingly  _ shifting _ ? 

Lucy strode out of the bathroom. “Better safe than sorry; quote every parent in human history,” she remarked. “Do you need to go? Wyatt’s got a lot of guns to choose between,” she asked. 

Truthfully, Flynn really did need to  _ go _ . But unless a 13-year-old Victoria came in to check their Visas, he wasn’t doing it with another woman in the room. He had to pray to Saint Francis of Assisi to assure himself that he did  _ not _ have “mommy issues”.

“No, I’m good,” he lied. 

He had to run a lot stiffer than normal through the cobblestone streets, thankfully Lucy didn’t seem to notice. That is, until a horse-drawn carriage sped around the corner startling him. 

_ Lord, why did I wear beige? _

A small spurt emerged as he reflexively raised a leg to jump out of the way.

Flynn bent over, both to hide any spot that might or might not have shown on his clothes, and to tighten his muscles. The latter action apparently did show outwardly, worrying Lucy.

“Are you okay?” she checked. Tetanus from old wood was her nr. 1 concern. 

“Yeah, just startled me,” he simplified, straightening up tensely. 

They kept walking. 

* * *

They arrived at the workhouse where Rufus and Wyatt were waiting among some crates, in the dark. 

“Did you get ambushed?” Wyatt asked instantly. 

“No, why would you think that?” Lucy asked, confused. 

“Flynn’s body language. He’s stiff as a board, his fists are clenched and he’s facing the wall, as if hiding an injury,” he listed his observations.

Flynn would’ve stopped breathing for a second in surprise, if he wasn’t already breathing cautiously. He turned around. “Just observing the craftsmanship,” he lied, trying to distract them with weirdness. It didn’t work. Lucy had noticed both the stiffness and his fists.

“Did the horse kick you?” she asked. 

“No. I’m fine, just trying to max out the potential of this great hiding spot,” he assured her. Without realising, in his attempt at seeming okay, his relaxing of his upper body sent his lower body into a jiggle. 

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?” Wyatt asked casually. 

“What?!” Flynn loudly whispered. 

“You look like you have to pee,” he stated, plainly. 

  
“I don’t. You’re being ridiculous,” Flynn lied. 

  
“Says the man with one hand between his legs,” Lucy pointed out, keeping a lookout at the same time. 

“Okay, yes. Big deal,” Flynn was grateful that it was too dark for the others to see him blushing. 

  
“It’s not. I’ve been in the army, bathroom stuff got public from the moment I stepped off the plane in Afghanistan,” Wyatt assured him, patting him on the back. 

  
“Workhouses were mainly staffed by orphans, underfed with gruel. Digestive issues were rampant, they probably have a bathroom,” Lucy remarked. 

  
Flynn quickly nodded and shushed her. 

*********

They found the Rittenhouse members, but apparently a bit too late. They managed to evacuate the children, and Earl Grey, except that they let one of the sleeper agents get away in the Mothership. 

  
“Who was the politician?” Wyatt asked as they were running. 

“Charles Grey. Prime Minister for 2 more years, known in the House of Lords as the 2nd Earl Grey,” Lucy recited. 

“Wait, Earl Grey? Like the tea?” Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity. 

“Exactly. Named after him,” 

_ Uh oh, don’t think about tea..  _ He realised, sneaking a few crotch grabs in between the running. 

They managed to knock out the remaining agents, including one that kicked Flynn in the stomach. A small stream of urine started seeping out, which he quickly stopped by crossing his legs. But, the second he took a breath, he spurted again. Looking around, he saw nothing besides his fellow teammates, tying up the crooks and stuffing their pockets full of fake contraband, ensuring their arrest. The street was empty, except for an alley. Flynn tugged down his shirt and sprinted into the alley. He stopped when he was far enough away from the street lamps, and predictably, lost all control. The fountain in Houston where he met his mother, came to mind as he felt his bladder empty completely into his pants. As it subsided to a drip, the sight of his soaked bottom half angered him. 

“Damn it, Garcia, fucking idiot, you had the chance and you crapped all over it,” he chastised himself. He didn’t notice Lucy walking up behind him.

She cleared her throat to alert her presence. Despite her not looking at him, his face flamed at the sound of her voice. 

“No, I’m not okay, in case you were wondering,” he remarked dryly. 

“I was just wondering when you were ready to go back to the guesthouse,” Lucy asked. 

“What? I figured we’d rendezvous back at the ship; I should smell less like piss by then,” Flynn assured her. 

“You really thought we’d leave you here? We’re a team now, Garcia, whether you want to believe it or not,” Lucy approached Flynn, touching his shoulder. He stepped out his puddle, shaking off his dripping clothes.

“We’re not going to abandon you just because you had an accident. That could happen to anyone, even you,” she smiled at him. 

“Really?” Flynn raised an eyebrow, sceptically.

“Tycho Brahe died from a burst bladder. You’re lucky to have a bladder weak enough for this to happen in the first place,” she mentioned. 

“Why did he hold it in that long?” Flynn asked, suddenly curious. 

“I’ll tell you on the way back. I do want to know your side of this, later,” Lucy offered a hand. 

“You’re sure, the guys won’t make fun of me for this?” he double-checked, still covering the obvious wet spot, which was too big for his hands to conceal anyway. 

“Wyatt’s a pro, Rufus will probably just want to sleep, his jaw got clobbered,” she assured him. 

His desire to get clean again by any 19th-century methods available, outweighed protecting his dignity. He followed her out of the alley. 

“I think we can all agree it’s been a long night. Not. A. Word. Please.” he begged. 

“You’re looking better without all that tension on you,” Wyatt quipped. 

“Very funny,” 

“That was a compliment. I’m just glad you’re comfortable,” 

“I was comfortable for a split second, not sure that counts,” Flynn stated, smiling sarcastically. 

“When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. A UTI in the age before penicillin would be dangerous. If I was a doctor I’d be proud of you. Since I’m not, I’ll just be indifferent,” Wyatt assured him. “Nice fighting back there,” he complimented, patting Flynn on the back. He looked at the scope of the accident out of interest, then shrugged. 

“Alright, guys, ready to head back?” Lucy beckoned the others. As if nothing happened, they followed. 

* * *

“First trip to England, and it’s not raining. The one time I could use a puddle,” Flynn remarked. 

“You’ve got one back there,” Wyatt noted. This earned him a glare from Garcia. 

“Hey, we agreed, you’d give us an explanation,” Lucy reminded him. 

“Of what? Biology?” Flynn quipped. 

“Let’s start with why you lied to me,” 

“Which time? At the hotel, or after the carriage almost ran me over?” he asked. 

“Both,” Lucy requested. 

“I didn’t want to use the bathroom with you there. If it’d been Wyatt I’d be fine, it’s women. I can’t  _ go _ in front of them. Not even if they’re outside the bathroom door. It’s like I’m genetically old-fashioned,” Flynn shrugged.

“Why didn’t you go before we left?” Wyatt interjected. 

  
“Right. That’s the part I didn’t want to explain..I’m shy. About using the bathroom. It’s been this way since grade school. The way I see it, my  _ business _ is not the business of anyone else. Obviously, that collided with my plans to steal the Mothership, so I made a schedule, that’s why the alarm went off this morning. We left right before I would ordinarily use the bathroom before takeoff. Rufus, you’ve kept track of things. When did I leave with Anthony in the Mothership the second time?” he retold. 

“10:27,” Rufus recalled. “And the one after that?” Flynn hinted. “10:27,” Rufus repeated. 

“10:27 again and again,” he noted. 

“Exactly. That way, if I ever got a stomach bug from some weird unpasteurised dairy, yes that happened, leave it alone,” Flynn explained, rolling his eyes at himself, before continuing. “I could still get the ship to its destination by 10:30, right before Agent Christopher and the rest of you guys showed up for work. “

Rufus, Wyatt and Lucy nodded, understanding. 

“So, tell me, Miss Historian, any clue on what to do about You-Know-What?” Flynn asked. 

“During World War 1, the British Government asked women at home to donate ammonia-rich urine to the army, so they could make gunpowder. The quickest way to get that, was to use a special cleaning solution to soak all the urine out of little kids’ clothes. If I can find an apothecary, anywhere with spices, I can make your pants spotless, no one will know besides us,” Lucy explained. 

* * *

After managing to acquire an extra washing barrel from the hotel owner, they cooked up the soap mixture. While Lucy rubbed out the pee from every yellow streak on Flynn’s pants, Flynn himself, used an absurd number of rags to clean himself off. Wyatt handed him a towel to sleep in while his clothes dried during the night. 

********

The pants were still a bit moist, when they woke up, but Flynn didn’t care. They would dry while they went back to the Lifeboat. 

Lucy intuitively left the room before Flynn had buttoned up his shirt, so he could pee in privacy. 

“I actually think it’s cute, that you can’t pee in the company of a lady. You’re a true gentleman,” she commented as they were walking down the stairs. 

“Pity our home century has so few of those,” Flynn smirked, appreciating the compliment. 

**********

They had all forgotten about the events of the previous day once they stepped shakily out of the capsule in the present day. 

“Why can I smell curry?” Agent Christopher asked, sniffing as she went to greet her friends. 

“What are you talking about?” Conor replied, confused. 

“I’m Indian, I know the spices from my home country a mile away,” she insisted. 

“Oh fuck.” Lucy deadpanned in realisation. The guys looked at her. 

“Did you step in a bowl of  _ raita _ ?” Denise quipped, pointing at Flynn’s pants, which were still damp. 

“No. Wet morning, I’ll just go hang them up somewhere,” he lied, walking away. 

Jiya checked her computer. “It couldn’t have been. It wasn’t raining. It hadn’t rained for days before the date you arrived,” she stated. 

“Hah. No rain in England, that’s a first,” Mason chuckled.

“Mr Garcia,” Denise called Flynn back. 

“Let me take a look at your outfit,” she requested. She grabbed a wet tissue, and wiped it on his left pant leg. She sniffed it again. 

“Okay, it’s not curry, I don’t even know what that is..Conor, smell this,” Agent Christopher asked. 

“Wait a minute. I recognize this. It’s this chemical they used during the Great War, to extract..” Mason’s eyes widened as he pieced it together. An amused smirk appeared as he looked at Flynn. He raised an eyebrow, wondering how that happened to his toughest operative. “Oh,” was his only reaction. 

“Mr Flynn, I do believe you’ve worn those khakis long enough, wouldn’t you?” he asked Flynn, providing him with an out. “Definitely. All done here?” Flynn agreed. 

“ _You_ are. I just need a quick word with the historian,” Conor excused the guys, who left to go change; one of them more eager than the others. 

* * *

“Okay, I’m lost. What do you know, Conor?” Agent Christopher frowned in confusion. 

“During World War 1, the British government asked the women who had little else to do, to donate urine to the war effort, as the ammonia in it could be used in the production of gunpowder. Obviously, the best source of urine with all the big bladders dispensed to the battlefields, were children who peed both in toilets and on  _ themselves _ . The chemical I was smelling, is from a concoction used to extract as much urine as possible from soiled clothing,” Mason explained. “How did you make it in Pre-Victorian times?” he asked Lucy, fascinated.  


“Spices, from an apothecary. You have a good nose, Denise. Most of them originate in India. Not quite curry, but it is from home,” Lucy explained, giving Denise a thumbs up for her olfactory abilities.

“Wait, that means that Flynn..” Agent Christopher frowned. 

“Yes. A lot of things went wrong,” Lucy confirmed. 

“Like what?” Christopher prodded further. 

“We left too early. 10:25 is the time Flynn normally went to the bathroom before his trips in the Mothership. It’s this whole shyness thing,” Lucy told them. 

“Some people like to keep their..business..private, that’s not entirely abnormal. Go on,” Mason remarked.

“We ended up in the same room at a guesthouse, and Flynn didn’t want to pee with me behind the door. Long story short, we caught the bad guys, but he ended up ducking into an alley a second before he  _ lost it _ ,” Lucy finished the story. 

“So, we’ve just discovered something that wasn’t in his CIA file,” Agent Christopher remarked. “How do we look out for him in the future..or rather, past?” she asked. 

Lucy thought about for a moment then it hit her.  _ Lyndon! _

“I have an idea. Lyndon B Johnson was famous for publicizing his bathroom habits. Once, he peed on a reporter. What if, we use ‘Lyndon” as code word. Flynn can use it in a sentence, instead of just bluntly saying he has to pee. He already has a system for when to go during missions; a smart watch concealed in his costume,” she suggested. 

“Alright. That sounds good. He knows enough about history, and he’s good at coming up with excuses to hide his needs completely, now he can get an excuse to hide it from everyone but you,” Agent Christopher agreed. 

“I’ll go tell him. After he’s _talked to Lyndon_ , of course,” Lucy joked, going off to remove her own uncomfortable costume. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Tycho Brahe, like Flynn was concerned about expressing toilet matters in public. He held his bladder during a party, due to his interpretation of banquet etiquette, deeming it bad manners to leave in the middle of the festivities. An opportune moment to slip away never appeared. He peed in agony for a few days before dying from the extreme muscle injury.


	2. Speaking of..

“Seatbelts?” Wyatt checked.

“Check,” Lucy replied. The others nodded. 

“Lyndon?” she asked Flynn. 

“Check,” he replied. 

“Takeoff at 11:46,” Rufus recited. 

“There’s so rarely a  _ good time _ for something. 11 46 is a good time to go _back_ in time,” Flynn remarked. 

“Especially when you’ve gone to the _bathroom_ in time,” Wyatt chirped up. 

“Yes,” 

**********

They were walking through the streets of Madison, Wisconsin to try and find the comptroller. 

“Follow the money,” Wyatt noted. 

“Exactly, history has its ironic inclinations,” Lucy agreed. 

“So, how do we find a ‘comptroller’?” Rufus questioned. 

“We find the town hall and pretend to be from the SEC,” she explained.

“Well, then you don’t need the Latino..I’ll go and  _ send a telegram to Lyndon _ , while I wait,” Flynn pointed at the bar across the street, running off. 

A deep presidential voice chuckled behind them. 

“A telegram? Who still sends those?” the 36th President of the United States commented. The shock of seeing the supposed  _ recipient _ stopped Flynn in his tracks. The others were speechless. 

“Mr President,” Lucy curtsied automatically. 

“If you want to chat, I’m right here. No need to do it the long way round,” Lyndon raised an amused eyebrow. 

Flynn briefly felt like it was Karma, him meeting the man whose name he was exploiting. 

“Oh, no, Mr President. I’m sending it to a friend who lives far away, Lyndon..Jackson,” he lied, running off again, even faster. 

Johnson smirked suspiciously at them. 

“So, this Lyndon  _ Jackson _ ..” he began, making it clear he didn’t believe them even a little bit. 

“Does he live in Death Valley? Only place I know that hasn’t got payphones,” the President pointed out. 

Lucy thought for a second how to respond, then remembered a story. Lyndon had a habit of going on impromptu road trips with beer, and equally spontaneously, peeing wherever he pleased, even on his staffer’s leg. 

“Okay, Mr President, you’ve got us. Here’s the thing: that’s my friend Garcia. He’s a bit shy about using the bathroom in public; not that you’d know anything about that sir..” she began, making Lyndon chuckle at his own expense. 

“Anyway, with your behaviour taken into account, we’ve started using your name as an inside joke, a sort of reference to going to the bathroom, so he doesn’t have to spell it out,” Lucy explained. 

“Huh. Didn’t think my antics were that funny yet, much less useful,” he noted, curiously. “I’ll tell my friend, maybe I can pry it out of him,” 

“Speaking of, this might seem a bit odd, but have either of you seen a big blue box?” Lyndon asked. 

“That wouldn’t be a _police telephone box_ would it?” Lucy replied. 

“Yeah, about the size of a normal payphone booth, on the  _ outside _ anyway..” the President rolled his eyes, despite being used to the phenomenon. 

“Are you talking about the Doctor?” Lucy asked, hiding her astonishment. 

“Doctor Who?” 

“Exactly, him! Silly clothes, British accent?” she checked, almost certain now.

“You know him?” Lyndon asked, intrigued. 

“Well, I’ve read about him. We’re actually time travelers too, we’re on an intelligence mission, long story... I’m a historian,” Lucy explained.

“Lucy!” Wyatt protested. 

“It’s okay, Wyatt, the president’s used to that,” she dismissed him calmly. 

“I don’t know about used to, I’m  _ in the know _ , to a degree..” Lyndon sighed. 

Flynn returned, looking confused. 

“There was a police box in front of the men’s room; is there a lot of Brits in town on this particular day?” he remarked, ignoring the president. 

“That’s what I’m looking for, thank you, Mr Flynn! I can’t wait to tell the Doctor about you. What a coincidence,” Lyndon walked off, smiling with amusement. 

“Doctor Who?” Flynn asked as well. 

“Not sure I’m qualified to answer that, let’s do the job and get home,” Lucy shook her head. It was a question for Connor. 

* * *

“Great, we’re here!” Flynn stated exasperatedly, as he exited the capsule. 

“Too colourful for your taste, Mr Flynn?” Connor quipped. 

“No.. Lucy can I ask him now?!” he rolled his eyes, and looked impatiently at the historian. 

“Ask me what?” 

“We ran into Lyndon. President Lyndon. Real deal. Right before Flynn was going to ‘send him a telegram’,” Lucy explained. 

Mason nodded sympathetically. 

“He was going to meet someone called the Doctor?” Wyatt added, equally curious. 

“And the historian didn’t elaborate because..” Mason questioned, looking at Lucy. 

“You’re the Brit, Connor. He’s  _ your _ idiot,” she explained.

“For better or for worse..alright,” Connor surrendered to her logic. 

“So, do you all remember how you felt about time travel when you heard about it?” he started. They nodded. 

“Well, you don’t know the half of it. The Doctor is an alien who travels through time and space in a big police telephone box,” he stated truthfully. 

“Really,” Lucy shrugged at her friends’ expressions. 

“He’s a Time Lord from a planet called Gallifrey. He arrived in Great Britain during the 60s, a year before Lyndon meets him actually, from his perspective,” Mason retold. 

“What’s the other perspective?” Rufus asked. 

“I demonstrated the fabric of time with a piece of paper, curving in on itself, that was a simplification. The most accurate description; time is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. That’s how he put it..” Connor shook his head, showing his equal confusion. 

“How did that just make sense?” Wyatt remarked. 

“I have absolutely no idea,” Lucy agreed. “There’s one more thing, even I don’t know,” she noted. “When I explained Flynn’s ‘thing’, Lyndon said he’d tell the Doctor about it, and he mentioned something about a coincidence,” Lucy asked Mason. 

“Oh right, apparently when the Doctor worked for an organisation called UNIT, that’s the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, during his exile, he was quite shy about his _needs_ , like Flynn,” Connor explained. “President’s got a point. That is remarkable,” he agreed. 

“So, I’ve something in common with an alien. Got it. Better that than terrorists,” Flynn muttered sarcastically, leaving to change out of his bell-bottoms. 

“Ever the cheery one,” Connor joked. 

The End. 


	3. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn's bladder is like the Empire State Building. Representative of progress persevering through a great crash. Both were a matter of confidence.

Flynn flipped through a copy of _Of Mice And Men._

“Have you reached the part about the Mice yet?” Wyatt asked, closing his laptop. 

  
“What? There aren’t any actual mice in this book,” he scoffed. 

“How would you know? I know you weren’t reading it. What’s on your mind?” the soldier asked. 

“I’m thinking about what happened this morning, with Lyndon” Flynn stated. 

“The bathroom or the President?” Wyatt smirked. 

“Both. I really don’t think I want to keep doing the whole _Lyndon_ slang bit anymore. I shouldn’t..” Garcia remarked. 

“Just because you ran into the guy himself?” 

“No! Well yes..it’s stupid. It’s the name of a President! That’s not a solution. It’s an absurd habit,” he rolled his eyes in disdain. 

“Well, what we do about your _thing_ , then?” Wyatt asked tiredly. 

“My _thing?_ Only I get to handle my _thing,_ ” Flynn commented the word use. 

“The issue on the other hand..it’ll be fine. You know, Lucy and Rufus, Conor and Agent Christopher. Tycho Brahe, if we run into him,” he listed trustees. 

“Why Tycho Brahe?” Wyatt questioned, confused. 

“He apparently made the same mistake I did, at a dinner party and died of uremia,” Flynn clarified. 

“He’s that German astronomer right?” he guessed. 

“Danish. Close enough. Birth name’s Tyge. Hard to pronounce in English,” Flynn corrected politely. 

“So, you just feel fine dealing with it as we go along?” Wyatt asked, uncertainly. 

“Yeah. I won’t feel too embarrassed about it, at least not so much that I can’t find a bathroom on my own. I know enough slang to use if it becomes necessary. And I trust either one of you to have the patience to wait for me to go before take-off. Or you’ll remind me. Don’t tell me you won’t be tempted. We’re a team. You know, you’d make a good urologist,” Flynn said confidently, chuckling. 

“No thanks. Apparently, a cut to the neck equalled a needle up the ass back in the day. I’m not dealing with plague-infested bladders. I’ve got one modern one keeping me _more than occupied_ ,” Wyatt registered his disagreement. 

* * *

“Well, I guess that can be counted as progress,” Lucy quipped, after being told the news. 

  
“Really?” Flynn rose an eyebrow, sceptically.

“Yeah! It means you’re more confident in your ability to manage your bladder, and more comfortable around **us** ,” she complimented. 

Flynn hugged her as thanks. 

“I’m not telling any more Presidents!” he warned firmly, walking into the bathroom. 

“But apparently, Tycho Brahe _will_ be notified,” Wyatt noted. 

“Hey, he could use the encouragement,” Lucy agreed, going to the launch site to forward the message to her bosses.

******

“Lovely. The less American our conversations, the better,” Connor sighed dramatically, giving a thumbs-up in approval of Flynn. 

“Anything that keeps spices out of your underpants is fine by me,” Agent Christopher stated simply, rolling her eyes at the Brit. 

The End.


End file.
